


Christmas Wishes

by BrokePerception



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokePerception/pseuds/BrokePerception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no better time to lose the fight and give in to loving than Christmas. HG/MM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Christmas Wishes – PART I/II**

Hogwarts' Great Hall was basically deserted when Hermione Jean Granger entered, carrying her leather bag, stuffed full of books and other study material, over to the table of Gryffindor House. Two female Second Years sat huddled together at the far end of it while holding seemingly interesting conversation – they were both laughing, giggling in between taking bites and sips of their morning meals. Her eyes slid over the rest of the neatly polished hard-wooden House tables: they were nearly as deserted as hers. She didn't find this very surprising, though.

At noon and dinner, pupils would gather in more little groups scattered here and there. Still, there was the occasional stray pupil who was trying to get something down. Most of them were from higher years, like Hermione. Surely, they had risen early to study or to invest their little time better otherwise, like Hermione. The others were undoubtedly still asleep, taking advantage of holiday time to sleep in for once. Hermione personally knew one of these pupils who was taking great advantage of that – Ginny Weasley. They were quite close, and Hermione did consider her her very best confidante (and had for years), but nonetheless were there many ways in which they differed – this was definitely one. Ginny was a lot like her brother in that regard… Too much.

The staff table was rather abandoned, too. The Headmistress was comfortably sitting in her high-backed chair in the middle, while talking to old Horace Slughorn seated to her right. Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra were in their usual seats, too. They were not talking despite the fact that they were sitting beside one another. Hermione unsuccessfully suppressed a yawn – she hadn't had a lot of sleep, and definitely not enough. There wasn't any time for sleep or rest, though. The grave exhaustion that had been gnawing at her for months didn't help either.

She couldn't help her hazel eyes trailing to Minerva McGonagall again. Her green eyes were alert as they always were. She vividly remembered when in first year McGonagall had caught Harry, Ron and her about the castle after Malfoy's little hint. Sleep hadn't overtaken those lightning eyes; nothing had diminished strictness or the fright she sent over them that night. Hermione had seen emotion shimmer through on multiple occasions, though, for which she was… grateful maybe.

She really didn't look a day older than she had that first year, when the then still Deputy Headmistress had come to deliver her Hogwarts acceptance letter, telling the Grangers Hermione was a witch and had been accepted to school herself further in magic, should she desire to do so, at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione's initial admiration for the witch had been awakened that same day even – one sight already enough to create awe more powerful than she had ever felt before.

A sigh eschewed from Hermione's lips as she finally tore her eyes away and slowly reached for a piece of toast then the butter. No, she looked better now. Hermione looked upon her knife as she spread the butter across the rough surface. True, the Battle had left the witch with a scar visible across her cheek – one which Madam Pomfrey had never managed to Heal due to its nature, like the one on the inside of Hermione's arm. Professor McGonagall's scar was unlike hers, though. It made her possibly even more of a warrior. Hermione felt like her scar, the long word carved into her flesh by Bellatrix's silver blade, was a sort of physical evidence of the heritage Hermione was still proud of yet an ugly reminder of how very little she meant to Wizarding Folk who thought in those terms. It made Hermione feel little and insecure.

The resolve of war and the death of Lord Voldemort seemed to have given Minerva McGonagall some kind of peace, though, which had been shielded by huge turmoil as her heart ached for those she had lost while Hogwarts Castle, her home, still laid in ruins. Every survivor had felt unbearable ache; had needed to grieve each in their own way: sometimes alone, sometimes together, sometimes quietly, sometimes accompanied by tears, cries, screams, curses and other external sort of behaviors that could go with grief.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day. Over the course of a half-year, Hogwarts Castle had finally been entirely restored to its full glory. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, the new Deputy, had been rather happy to announce. Even the turrets and towers that had no longer been use since long before the battle, had been restored that morning – that and the few details they hadn't managed before the school opened. Professor McGonagall hadn't wanted to wait to reopen, though. Hermione saw why. Of course, you couldn't act like nothing had happened, but just maybe it wasn't for the better to deliberately remain unmoving only to continue to chastise yourself with painful memories.

Hermione felt the familiar and homey atmosphere that hung about Hogwarts, the Great Hall original with huge trees Hagrid had procured, decorated by Filius Flitwick, soothed something deep inside that had not been soothed since they had run from Bill and Fleur's wedding, run for their lives and fought in a war. Maybe that's what had eventually caused Minerva's eyes to lighten and become clearer, too. Hermione had at once noticed when Professor McGonagall came to ask the Gryffindors who would go home and who would stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. Those green eyes were the most beautiful she had ever seen and were one most agreeable and attractive characteristic of the Headmistress without doubt.

As Hermione bit in her toast, she realized Minerva McGonagall hadn't only been the logical choice but undoubtedly the best, too, to become Headmistress after Dumbledore. She seemed to suit the position, she had to admit, even though she regretted no longer being taught Transfiguration by her. Oh, Catherine Downley was okay. Hermione didn't doubt her knowledge in any way – after all, she had been selected by Professor McGonagall herself. She taught in ways that Hermione wasn't used to, treated her pupils unlike McGonagall had and still did. She wasn't exceptionally unkind, but… For instance, when Professor McGonagall had taught Transfiguration, pupils sometimes stayed behind if there were questions right after class, which she would always answer if she wasn't afraid the response would lead them too far – Minerva McGonagall had learned to read Hermione and had soon recognized her wish to know everything possibly related to the subject of question. Professor Downley didn't allow that. She always reserved her Saturdays for that, when pupils could freely come to her office and ask all that they wanted to know. Hermione didn't see the reasoning behind that really – to ensure in-depth and maybe unhurried responses?

She had been there a couple of times only. She had looked in awe at the changes in Professor McGonagall's old rooms the first time she set foot there after the battle: the odd way of decoration, the soft beige color of the walls, rather than the dark Gryffindor red that it had always seemed to have before the battle.

As Hermione slowly stood and took her bag, she fleetingly let her gaze aside once more – the Headmistress appeared to have left. She sighed and began to the library, where she hoped to get some work done. As she did so, she wondered whether the Headmistress's rooms now in the Headmaster's Tower looked similar to her former ones, when she had been a Deputy and a regular teacher, now.

She had been there with Professor McGonagall when they rebuilt that part of Hogwarts Castle. She remembered how they had found it: cold and without emotion or personality yet very Severus Snape beneath ruins. She remembered that day well, and not without a reason. She remembered how the Bell Tower sounded to indicate time for dinner. Professor McGonagall had lagged a tad for no obvious reason until Hermione turned and moved to walk from the room to have dinner and the new Headmistress gave a little swish of her wand to color the walls a familiar dark red before smiling slightly and following. Hermione quietly suspected Minerva had wanted to do it inconspicuously, but she had seen all from the corner of her eyes… She wasn't sure if Professor McGonagall knew she had seen it really or if she actually minded. She understood why the new Headmistress would like to go back to how all used to be even in little ways, though. Hermione Granger desperately wanted to turn back time often enough herself. Unfortunately, she knew that she couldn't do so.

She and McGonagall had paired together often while rebuilding lasted – it was then when Hermione had gotten the top of her respect for Professor Minerva McGonagall, even when Hermione thought it couldn't have been any higher. Ginny and Neville had shared with her, Harry and Ron how the Gryffindor Lioness had fought the Carrows to defend the pupils at Hogwarts, let them punish her instead of them. That had actually made Hermione both sad and yet made her smile, too, somehow. It created a weird feeling deep inside her.

She was a quite fierce, powerful witch, yet if you looked well enough, you knew that she always cared lots more than one could see on first sight. Keeping pupils safe in her way was one matter, but there had been the scream when they had thought Harry was dead which she couldn't possibly forgot, nor undoubtedly ever would either. How Minerva had cradled Hermione's cheek in her hand and looked into her eyes for an honest answer upon those many unasked questions then hugged her tight when she had come to find her, Harry and Ron after the great battle and asked the trio to join everyone in the Great Hall to have a little bit to eat or a cup of pumpkin juice or stronger. Most survivors had remained – most to rest than sleep after everything, though. Actually, it had been comforting to be able to just open your eyes and be assured of everyone's safety with a glance. Hermione heard from Madame Pomfrey the new Headmistress had been awake all night then, just looking upon the survivors. It were those little facts that did it. Oh, Hermione Granger had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably…

It wasn't anything which Hermione had shared with anyone, let alone Minerva herself. She had had some strange sort of infatuation with the witch in her third year, intrigued by her wisdom and intelligence, the admiration she had had for Minerva McGonagall since day one having been the foundation for that small emotional increase. It had lasted for a few months, but it had gone to 'basic admiration' after summer holidays once more. In hindsight, there had always been a little bit more yet indescribable to that admiration after that, but it was different still from now.

They had worked very closely together when the school was rebuilt, and that admiration and love had blossomed over that period gradually, despite the fact that they had never really talked about any of their personal business, although Hermione still had somehow suspected, somehow known, Minerva McGonagall really wanted to know where they had been over the course of last year. Hermione was curious, too.

They had _almost_ never talked about their personal business… There was that one time when she had reached over to get her wand after having sat down for a cup of tea for a little while. Her sleeve had caught at a splinter in the wooden table and unexpectedly slid up to reveal the scar that Bellatrix had left. Hermione had never told the story to anyone other than Minerva, and when she had her gaze had been down while Minerva had been quietly watching her. Only when she had finished telling what she really wanted to about the past year, had Hermione slowly lifted her face again, told the Headmistress she didn't like to say any more on the matter, then gotten upright to continue casting powerful _Reparo's_. Minerva had never asked more, but she had undoubtedly hoped it had helped to tell the story once.

* * *

**Author's** **Note :** I'm so sorry, I couldn't resist this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Christmas Wishes – PART II/II**

It wouldn't be the first night she dreamed of Minerva McGonagall. In fact, Hermione had a lot of dreams about her… and daydreams, but those she tried to always ignore when she could, because they were truly the ideal mix to cause her mind to go right in the gutter when she could occupy it much better. They were rather various, but there was one common factor to them: those dreams always included them at the least kissing passionately, like she might have done with Ron once upon a time, before she realized that they were no good like that. Ron had spoken against it, of course, telling her he loved her and that he really thought they were good together and meant to be… Hermione did loved him lots, but they were too unlike each other to ever manage it as a couple – she feared the war had brought together what shouldn't have been. After a little while of not sharing each other's bed anymore, just behaving like they used to as much as possible, Ron had had to admit that she might have been right. He had met another girl not long after and felt the difference between what he felt for her and what he had for Hermione – this was truly better.

One of the reasons why they had kissed and engaged in sexual actions… but never quite intercourse. Hermione had somehow felt it wasn't entirely right – that it wasn't going to last forever. She used to be the little girl who read fairytales to herself, watched Disney on television. Hermione therefore still somehow believed in a happily ever after despite the great heartache, pain and downright suffering that she had seen yet in her still-young life. Seeing that had of course made her far less _naïve_ , too – that and her own intelligence. She didn't believe in rose gardens, knew that life was not always fair and nice and nothing could be held together if it wasn't meant to be and it didn't come from the both sides. It was one of the reasons why she knew that nothing could ever happen between her and McGonagall.

It made the dreams harder to live with, because no matter how much delight they somehow contained, there were always realizations and rationalizations gnawing at Hermione come morn.

Hermione rolled over in bed, flittering between R.E.M. and a deeper sleep. Tonight was one of these nights where the Headmistress came to her in her sleep unexpectedly – this time rather in the form of a memory slightly altered.

_Hermione laid a gentle hand on Minerva's as she saw her look about the office now restored to how it used to be before with her own and the Headmistress's magic. It looked like it had, which appeared to have touched the elder woman deeply. Hermione had never seen the new Headmistress like this. Somehow, she knew memories of times long lost were coursing through her mind. She had seen both Harry and Ron do this at times while on the Horcrux hunt and most often at nightfall. Harry, unlike Ron, would sometimes tell her what he thought about, and no immediately turn away and resume what he had been doing until then – especially when Ron had just left them. Hermione believed it had been a rather unyielding foundation added to their friendship. She didn't dare to ask what Minerva thought about, though. She had no idea. Somehow, it seemed one bridge too far._

_Minerva turned to her and smiled weakly, her hand slipping from Hermione's as she already began to the bedrooms and said they better continued. The way her eyes had looked in that moment was an image that Hermione couldn't forget. They seemed to have been spun of emeralds, containing her every emotion for just one second… and it shot straight to Hermione's_ soul _._

Hermione tossed on her back, remembering in her dream how they had gotten to the bedrooms and looked upon all damage – most of it had definitely been done to the content; the room itself had mostly been intact. She remembered how it had looked when they had left, her dream skipping to matter of more relevance…

_Minerva McGonagall fell back on the mattress with an '_ ooff' _. She didn't speak as Hermione moved to straddle her, their pelvises at level as Hermione's knees cradled her slender waist… She bent down to kiss the older woman, feeling her warm hands moving higher slowly on her clad thighs… move to her waist and push her closer as a more skilled tongue overtook and passionately twiddled with her own – fucked it. Hermione's wanted destination was clear, and she was rather determined to get there and deliberately seduce Minerva… make her feel the best she ever would._

* * *

It had been a rather long while since Hermione's sleep had been so peaceful, she realized upon waking. The bed somehow felt warmer than it ever had, which was welcome that cold and hazy winter morning. Her eyes opened slowly, and Hermione Jean Granger frowned to herself as she came to from her sleep. It was then she realized by feel more than sight that this wasn't her bedroom at all. In panic yet slowly she pulled her left arm back upon realizing it was draped casually across someone's waist. Her breath hitched as Hermione's mind connected the dots, the smells and other, and told her who _that someone_ was. The smell of almond lingered in Hermione's nose more than ever… belonging to Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress.

Hermione rolled to her back and hastily scrambled into a sitting position, swallowing nervously, trying to get her raging breathing under control. How had she even got there? How was she going to escape without being noticed? Her heartbeat pounded loudly, as if she had run for miles. She never could have guessed it was loud enough even to awake her slumbering sleeping partner entirely, though. As she heard the sheets rustle and moved her gaze to the side to see the witch slightly move, she closed her eyes, just awaiting her fate. In seconds, Minerva would discover her there, and she wouldn't have words for her or herself.

Hermione's breath caught. She tried to hold it in… but couldn't. She was seriously panicking, unable to remember how she had gotten there and why there, why now. She closed her eyes, felt her heart beat severely against her ribcage, easily carrying over the sound of quietly rustling sheets… until suddenly it sounded, "Miss Granger! What are you doing here? How have you gotten here?"

Hermione forced herself to open her eyes and then look open Minerva McGonagall, who had scrambled upright in a half-sitting position, too, on the far very edge of the bed, having pulled the covers to her neck. Hermione couldn't blame her. It couldn't get much more intimate than being in her bed anymore!

Hermione watched as Minerva slowly seemed to collect herself, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes thoughtfully for a moment. "What's the very last you remember?"

"I, uh… I was readying for bed, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva's eyes opened and gazed quietly upon her Seventh Year pupil – greens were tightly squeezed in slits as she drew upon her logical thought, trying to find reason. "The Anti-Apparition wards within Hogwarts were down over night due to immense increase of magic used by the House-Elves and other to ready all for today. Do you believe that could have anything to do with it?"

Hermione felt her blood had gone cold from shock, vague images of last night's dream returning. The pieces of the unsolved puzzle finally fell together. Yet she couldn't reason now, had no clue at all whether this was how she had expected her to react… but she almost wished Professor McGonagall had yelled and sent her away, instead of somehow trying to calm herself through the obvious shock and trying to find how and why. This was one question she couldn't answer. She could not lie to her, especially when those green eyes and that tone seemed so sure, so knowing… almost rhetorical. She couldn't bear to answer it, though. She felt that it would lay her soul bare more than it already was. She couldn't hear her say that she was foolish and couldn't happen in any case – this was Hermione's cue to leave at once. The portraits would find it quite weird, but… Oh, why did she have to pass through there anyway? Why? She couldn't stay there, though. She needed to leave, couldn't bear being in that same room with that same woman anymore. Hermione had never wanted her to know at all, and certainly not like this…

She finally tore her gaze away and made to leave the room and the Tower. She needed to get away, go hide under a rock or whatever large enough. Wasn't it rather curious how a young woman who had seen so much, had fought in a war and the like, could still be made to feel so insecure about matters of the heart? It was still true, though…

"Hermione, stop," a voice came as the far younger witch slid her legs over the edge of the bed, ready to take a run for it. Hermione only barely held back a sob and did as she had been told, going against her instincts. She closed her eyes again as she felt the bed buoy behind her somewhere and then suddenly a presence beside her. "Hermione, will you look at me?" Minerva calmly asked.

Slowly, Hermione lifted her face and let her brown eyes flutter open as she turned her head to look at the Headmistress who had come to sit beside her. She didn't dare to let her gaze trail down no matter how much it desired to. Green connected with hazel, and the younger woman nervously swallowed. She had never learned of any anything like this happening, but then 99% of the time there were Anti-Apparition wards, and the majority of Hogwarts pupils didn't know a lot on how to Apparate. Plus, Hermione Granger doubted that any pupil would have ever thought with that desire about being in McGonagall's bed. For her, it was quite obvious. She saw such great beauty in the older woman; it made such sense. At the same time, she knew it was uncommon for people to see the same beauty she did in a woman Minerva McGonagall's age. Maybe Hermione herself had once upon a time not seen it either, but she didn't remember that time anymore. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It isn't your fault," Minerva said. "I undoubtedly should have anticipated. You've been through a grave enough ordeal this year, and it is absolutely normal even for someone with your intelligence, to go seek solace with someone…"

"It isn't like that," Hermione interrupted – the bad had already prevailed anyway. She had nothing more to lose. Professor McGonagall was already trying to rationalize it, trying to give meaning to it in a way. She didn't know how she would have felt in that same position, what she would have done… but maybe something similar. It undoubtedly sounded very impolite, but still it felt important Minerva knew the whole truth. If she was going to know something of it, then better all of it. "Those feelings have been there for longer; not just from over these last months," Hermione whispered.

Minerva sighed, nodding slightly. Hermione couldn't immediately pinpoint the emotion behind it. "That's what I already feared. It would have been… easier if they had not been. Still, I am your Headmistress and you a pupil under my direct care. I would mean I'm taking advantage of you to only begin with even if I felt the same way. I am in an influential position, which I'm sure you do know…"

"It doesn't matter to me what the rest of the world believe, as long as both you and I knew the truth of it. If– If you had felt the same way." Hermione sighed; her insecurities had overtaken her speech right now. "I hadn't planned on you ever knowing in any way. I knew you wouldn't – couldn't feel even remotely the same for me. First off, you're a woman… and it is understandable enough that you wouldn't be willing to deal with someone so much younger, more naïve and less intelligent, like me. I'm not even half as successful as you in any–"

"Hermione, stop – right there," Minerva spoke and laid her hand upon the younger Gryffindor's gently. She softly squeezed it until Hermione turned her face up again, which she had cast down while speaking. "Hermione, in a world where people perform magic, where dragons still exist, gender and respective ages are of… minor importance. However, you've got to take into consideration that someone of, for instance, my age and someone of, for instance, your age, often need and want differently. That's the hazard, I am afraid."

"How can you know that?" Hermione whispered. "Who knows, we may want the same, entirely or partially so. I have had enough excitement for a lifetime."

Minerva sighed deeply. "Indeed, I can't know that. However, Hermione, you are a beautiful and intelligent young woman. Even if I had not been your superior, I remain an old woman, and you deserve better than me – someone attractive, for instance. There'll be someone you like that way."

Hermione couldn't take it any longer, and a sob escaped her lips. "I am attracted to you…" she whispered, brokenly, tearing her gaze away once more and hiding her face in her hands, no longer able to suppress many tears, no matter how much she would have liked to. This wasn't how she had imagined Christmas morning… at all.

Minerva struggled for several minutes before she wrapped her arm about the younger witch's shoulders, pulling Hermione against her. This would have been so much easier if she herself hadn't felt those feelings develop over the last couple of months now, when they had worked so closely together. Even before, she had been charmed by her beauty and her great intelligence, her modesty about both. She had not only teased Hermione with it when they had been rebuilding… but herself, too. She should have ended it when she could, but then there would have been questions, which Minerva McGonagall wasn't ready to answer yet… She had hoped she could be stronger somehow, but the way her heart ached so irrationally upon seeing Hermione cry, like love was irrational, too, told her that she wasn't. "Please, Hermione, I really hate seeing you cry…"

Hermione slowly shook her head, then stood, turning to Minerva with tear-streaked eyes and red cheeks. "I'm sorry for loving you," she whispered, moving to leave when her arm was gently caught in a tender yet firm grip, making her stop and spin to face the woman sitting on the bed.

_Well, fuck it._ "Me, too," Minerva whispered, getting upright, taking a hold of Hermione's chin and leaning in to kiss her, take her breath away.

There was no better time to lose the fight and give in to loving than Christmas.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Merry Christmas to everyone!


End file.
